


Starry Eyed, Young

by DistortedDaytime



Category: Ted Lasso (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:08:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28252932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistortedDaytime/pseuds/DistortedDaytime
Summary: After the team breaks the treatment room curse, Rebecca takes Sam home.AKA, How Rebecca Starts To Get Her Groove Back.
Relationships: Rebecca Welton/Sam Obisanya
Comments: 18
Kudos: 36





	Starry Eyed, Young

**Author's Note:**

> I was rewatching this show, as I'm prone to doing, and then I thought...what if?

In the grand scale of her life’s mistakes, taking one of her players home after an absurd quote-unquote ‘ritual’ is somewhere between thinking Wetherspoon’s is haute cuisine and that time at university she decided to snog her maths professor in the toilet. 

Thus, worse than the days she and Sassy borrowed her mum’s hair straighteners for some impromptu crimping, better than agreeing to get back with Rupert after the first time she caught him cheating.

The thought should give her some kind of pause, any kind, really, and yet.

“Can I offer you a drink?” Rebecca asks, retrieving a bottle of merlot and two glasses.

Sam just smiles and shakes his head. “I don’t drink, thank you.”

“Right, of course.”

She pours herself half a glass anyway and takes a long sip. The flavor rolls over her tongue, the cut of fermentation soothed by the sweet undercurrents, and for a moment Rebecca savors it.

In another life - her  _ old _ life - she would make some comment about tannins, seek to make herself tall by demonstrating her knowledge and pretending she truly was as put-together as she strives so hard to always appear. 

Today, in this life, she takes Sam’s hands in his face and kisses him. 

It occurs to her, belatedly, that she maybe should have asked if he’s ever done this before, but the confidence in his kisses dissuades her of the notion. Somehow Sam kisses like he smiles, bright and warm and unfettered to things like shame and reason. 

Rebecca’s arms find their way around Sam’s neck and they stand there, in the middle of her kitchen, kissing like they have nowhere else in the world to be, but she’s all too aware of how soon tomorrow will come.

Right. No time like the present, and all that.

He doesn’t let go of her hand when she guides him to her bedroom, and he doesn’t complain when she doesn’t turn on the lights.

Instead, Sam just smiles at her.

“Do you have matches?”

“Oh. Yes, in the drawer. Why, what are you-”

A flare, the quick scent of sulfur, then the room is bathed in soft golden light.

Oh. Candles. 

“Sam, you know this isn’t- well. This isn’t that kind of thing, where we pretend to be romantic.”

“I know. But that does not mean we cannot enjoy it,” he answers, and really, she can’t argue with that.

There’s a softness in his hands as he removes her clothes. Sam’s touch passes over her skin like a feather on the wind, like she’s something to be treated gently, and Rebecca can’t help but return it. Sam’s gorgeous naked, like most footballers are; it’s nothing she hasn’t seen in changing rooms over the past decade or so, and yet this is as far from that as she is from the woman she was even a year ago.

She is better. She can get better. 

Rebecca pulls her hair loose from its tie and eases Sam onto his back. He goes so willingly that she expects him to lay back and let her do as she pleases. She is not expecting him to surprise her, certainly not to take hold of her hips and guide her up so she’s hovering over his face. 

It’s a terrible habit left over from her marriage to pretend that no, this really isn’t necessary, she’s more than ready for the main event, but the first swipe of Sam’s tongue knocks the thought from her mind entirely. 

Without preamble he puts his mouth to tremendous use. Sam’s inquisitive and thorough as he learns what she likes and as soon as he gets his bearings he coaxes her to climax, holding tightly to her hips as she shakes through the pleasure of it, but just as she’s about to pull away Sam hums.

“Would you like another?”

For all intents and purposes he sounds like he’s discussing mangos at a fruit stall or something. Certainly not...orgasms.

Rebecca’s breath catches on the affirmation. “Yes, please.”

“Okay!”

She can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it. Polite to a fault, even when he’s got his face buried between her thighs. She keeps laughing through her second peak, and by the time Sam eases her down toward his chest she’s still giggling a little, alight with the joy of it all. 

Once she gets her breath back, Rebecca smiles down at him and scoots down further so she can straddle him properly. She touches the corner of his mouth with her thumb. “That was marvelous. Now, just...stay there.”

She reaches into her nightstand. Buying the condoms right after the divorce was finalized had felt like hubris and childish rebellion, a metaphorical two fingers flicked at the universe that made her cringe right there in the chemist’s. She hadn’t thought about opening the box and actually using them, and yet here she is.

Sam leans over and tries to pluck the box from her hand. “Let me?” he asks, and Rebecca shakes her head.

“No. Let  _ me. _ ”

It’s the work of a moment to get the box open and tear one off the strip. The urgency is clawing at her again, to roll it on and get on with it, but Rebecca’s fingers slip and just like that, she’s laughing again. 

“What’s so funny?” asks Sam, smiling.

“Nothing. I’d just forgotten how...how  _ absurd _ the whole process is. Equipment, and body parts, and fluids-”

“Absurd, yes,” he answers, and his hand finds hers. “And nice.”

Together they get the condom on, and from there, Rebecca stops thinking. She puts her hands on Sam’s chest; his skin is velvet soft under her hands as she lowers herself onto him and from there it’s the work of a moment to find a pace she likes, and oh, but she has missed this. The pure  _ feeling _ of it all when it’s not a chore or an obligation, when she’s free to savor it and tell the little voice in the back of her head worrying about cellulite and impropriety to  _ shut the fuck up.  _

One of Sam’s hands comes up to her breasts and the other is firm on her back, grounding and encouraging. He’s saying something she can’t catch and gradually his hips move faster; she’s chasing the satisfaction again, one final time.

“Give me your hand, Sam.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Sam’s fingers find her clit and he times it perfectly, taking her as high as his mouth did, higher, to the sky, to the sun.

*

Afterwards, when the candle has burned low, Sam rolls over on his side and beams at her.

“Thank you, Rebecca.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

He kisses her cheek, somehow chaste in the face of everything they’ve done, and gets out of bed.

“I will let you sleep now. Tonight we lifted a curse and we shared something special, and tomorrow, we will remember these things and be glad they happened, even though they won’t happen again. Unless, maybe, there is another curse.”

Rebecca smiles. “That seems reasonable.”

Sam blows out the candle and gets her a glass of water, then he leaves, the front door shutting softly behind him. Rebecca stays still for a moment and waits for the shame to come. Surely, now that she’s alone with the reality of her actions…

It never comes. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
